


Tom Riddle's Christmas

by narla_hotep



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Horcruxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:18:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8384170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narla_hotep/pseuds/narla_hotep
Summary: Tom Riddle's thoughts shortly after making his first horcrux. An old poem of mine from a while ago...





	

Tom sits in a corner

but not alone

first-years discussing him

in a quiet tone

He doesn't look up

or say a word

staring down at a book

he hasn't stirred

The lights are low

and the pages blank

future Death Eaters gather

without organized rank

Abraxus bends down

to wave his hands

before bloodshot eyes,

then he silently stands

"Tom, what's going on?"

they all want to know

"it's Christmas Eve,

even we like the snow"

Then a bright Lestrange

knowing Tom's chosen name,

says "Hello, Voldemort!

your skills at distraction

have put drugs to shame"

Suddenly startled, the young Dark Lord

twitches, then smiles,

his lips curling upward

expression as cold as the tiles

"I'll come down later,"

he promptly replies

voice silky-smooth

and experienced with lies

When Tom is alone

he takes thoughts for a ride

even he, the school psycho

never felt so empty inside

Three days have passed

since that fateful night;

with a rip and a tear

and an agonized scream,

Tom's goal came into sight.

The funeral was yesterday

Myrtle laid to rest

he didn't shed a tear

instead of guilt, a dull fear

(That his deed would be found,

that he'd go into ground

or just be consumed

by the grayness all around...)

Everything is cold now

he hopes it will pass

how did dark lords of old

deal with something so crass?

Tom fingers the diary

from which all text has fled

He must tough it out,

it's this or be dead...

He does feel stronger

his curses strike true

not hampered by the doubt

that can plague me or you

For no special reason,

Tom raises his pen

the text disappears,

then ink comes again

He had said something stupid,

not profound or sage

"What have I done"

made its mark on the page

At the diary's reply

Tom was stuck dumb,

didn't know what to say...

The damn book had written:

"This is the price you pay."


End file.
